


Intertwine

by Wisteria_Leigh



Series: Prompted Works [13]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Dreamsharing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Nightmares, Physical Abuse, The Barns (Raven Cycle), Tumblr Prompt, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 15:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17583743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wisteria_Leigh/pseuds/Wisteria_Leigh
Summary: Ronan snaps awake with a gasp. Heaving breaths, pounding heart.It takes him a moment to remember how to breathe.What the hell just happened?





	Intertwine

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by elizraann-blog on Tumblr from [ this list ](http://purrincesscatitude.tumblr.com/post/181823833695/prompt-list)
> 
> 16: "Can't...breathe..."

Nightmares for Ronan Lynch are nothing if not predictable.

There's a theme: Night Horrors; Death; Abandonment; Blood. Lots of blood.

There’s a storyline: Normal dream; sudden Bad Thought; sudden Bad Thing; violence; rage; run; wake up.

There’s two possible outcomes: he wakes up with nothing; he wakes up with something.

Predictable.

Until they aren’t.

He’s at the Barns, in this dream. Walking through fields. Talking to cows, who, naturally, can talk back. Opal is explaining, in perfect French, how the dairy cows are the best at knitting because of their flexible hooves. None of this is true, Ronan knows, but he would never think to insult them like that. They need to be told, gently and carefully, that knitting isn’t the best path for them, but have they considered ballet?

He’s just climbed over the fence to talk some sense into Blue, who has decided that the goats need to be taught jump rope so they can have a better appetite for grass.

Static suddenly blurs the world around him. Discharged energy hums, crackles, hisses through the air. The scene stops and starts, freezes and stutters while he stands in the white noise, unaffected.

And then, he’s on the ground.

He doesn’t fall, because that would imply there’d been a transition. There wasn't. He was at the Barns. And then he was here. In the dirt. Lightning cracking above him, the world violently saturated, colors harsh and loud and making his eyes ache. A silhouette of a large man above him, _on_ him.

He’s terrified. Suddenly. Absolutely.

And he can’t breathe.

The man is choking him, he realizes. Hands wrap around his neck. A knee bears down on his chest, cracking ribs, flattening his lungs.

The world swims. Lightning flashes more frantically. Vultures circle above them, ghastly stop-motion in the strobe lights.

_You been hidin money from us all this time?! Ain’t got an ounce of respect in you! A disgrace!_

The man is shouting. Spitting through broken, rotting teeth. Everything sounds like he’s under water. Echoing, warbling.

Disconnected.

Static burst through again. He’s back at the Barns. In the field. Everything is frozen.

Back again to the dirt.

The frequency is fucked up, he notes. This isn’t his dream, he realizes. Which means…it must be…and that man can only be…

_Me and your momma gave you damn near everything. And what do you do? Go an’ throw it all away for some rich fucks? Turn your back on us? On your own flesh and blood!_

A flash of lightning provides a glimpse of Robert Parrish’s face--bulbous, molting, eyes red and veins popping. The acrid smell of vomit on his breath. The thick smell of decay and rot from his hands. Hands that are crushing his neck, choking his windpipe, twisting and squeezing and trembling--

“Can’t...breathe…” Ronan wheezes. But he’s not Ronan. The bittern nails stained with oil, scrabbling for purchase in Robert’s arms. Freckled forearms. Fair hair damp with sweat and plastered to his forehead.

_We tried teachin you some goddamn humility, but you were too fuckin proud. Think you’re better than us, huh? Think you’re better than this? You deserved it. You always deserved it, you lazy fuckin--_

Ronan doesn't know what’s happening. Doesn’t understand why, either. He started the scene halfway through, interrupted a conversation, stumbled into the climax. Adam’s voice, gasping, choking, shallow and rasping and _pleading_ for Robert to stop, please stop, I can’t...I can’t _breathe_ while Robert’s mammoth hands crush and calloused fingers tighten.

_We all woulda been better off. Better off without you. Everybody._

The grip tightens.

_Your friends. Your family. Your fucking school. Your fucking boyfriend._

Adam is crying. Or maybe that’s Ronan.

_Better off without you, Adam Parrish._

Vultures scream. Thunder roars. The picture goes fuzzy. Everything turns sepia, muddies the sound of Robert and the birds and the lightning screaming and screaming and screaming.

_Better. Fucking. Off._

Ronan’s windpipe cracks.

Then static.

Ronan snaps awake with a gasp. Heaving breaths, pounding heart.  

It takes him a moment to remember how to breathe.

_What just happened?_

In and out. In and out. A gentle breeze drifts through the open window of his room at The Barns. It dries the sweat along his brow.

 _What the_ fuck _just happened?_

He feels for his neck, to gingerly press the stubble-prickled skin. Nothing hurts. Impressions of Robert’s hand linger in his mind more than in reality. Good.

 _What the fucking shitting fuckhell_ was _that_?

It was a dream.

Correction: a nightmare.

He exhales, full and real and unobstructed by Mr. Parrish’s hands.

Dream sharing is new. Ish. Technically, when he dreams and Adam scrys, they can share. But that’s intentional. This….this was _not._

It’s the darkest point of night. The time when it’s too late for the night creatures but too early for the morning birds. That stretch when the world is silent; truly, eerily soundless. As if, for an hour, they’ve slipped away from reality.

That’s the only reason why he hears it. Whimpering. So soft, barely even a whisper, easily hidden by rustling blankets, or a gentle snore, or a distant owl’s crooning, or the last two chirping crickets in the final bars of the symphony.  

Ronan turns, sits up on his elbow. Adam’s lying on his side, his back to Ronan. Over the slope of his shoulder, Ronan watches his fingers twitch and face flinch, inhaling raggedly and exhaling his whispered cries.

Ronan’s dreams must have fucked up on their own. Must not have impacted Adam at all. Which is good, because while they’ve been through weird fucking shit in their lives, Ronan is _really_ not ready to have Adam suddenly switch into his dreams when they’re getting...um... _heated_. And/or murderous.

But also bad, because that means Adam didn’t get a reprieve from the hell his subconscious created.

Fuck.

Adam’s still trembling, whining so softly it hurts Ronan’s heart. His hands ache to touch him. To hold him. But he doesn’t. Waking Adam is not an option. Been there, done that, fought about it, agreed to never do it ever again. So instead, he waits.

It’s not much longer before Adam blinks awake. A shockingly calm reaction, considering Ronan is fairly certain Adam was being choked by a monstrous distortion of his father just moments ago.

He blinks a few more times, tears left unshed in the dream tumbling down his cheekbones. He rubs his face with a fist, scoffs in a way that is so deeply self-deprecating it curdles Ronan’s stomach.

He doesn't know Ronan is awake.

They’ve been together for three years, sleeping in the same bed whenever they can, so Ronan _knows_ that Adam, even on the best mornings, is the grumpiest person on the planet when he first wakes up. So when he wakes in the middle of the night, tumbling out of a nightmare in which his father was actively trying to murder him, he’s not going to be very happy. And the second he realizes Ronan is awake, realizes that _Adam’s the one who woke him,_ he’ll be ashamed. And then he’ll be angry. Not at Ronan, but at himself. For waking the notorious insomniac. For having the nightmare in the first place. For crying. For being a Parrish.  

So Ronan lays back down, carefully, quietly, while Adam sniffles and scrubs his face clean with a forearm. And he waits. One breath. Two. Three. And then--what a coincidence!--his body decides that now is a great time to regain some blood flow. He shifts closer. Adds a little bit of a grumble. Releases a deep exhale, like he’s surfacing, only briefly, from the depths of REM sleep. He’s got to sell this. Make it feel real, you know?  

He wraps one arm around Adam’s waist to pull him gently into his chest and wraps a leg around Adam’s; he tucks his other arm beneath Adam’s neck, and folds his arm to hug Adam’s shoulder. If Adam’s fingers interlace with his in this process, that’s a happy bonus.

What an _odd_ _coincidence_ that Adam believes Ronan turns part-octopus in his sleep.

“Ronan?” he mumbles, voice slurred from sleep and quivering still.

This is the hardest part. There’s so much he wants to say-- _I love you, you’re safe here, it’s over, I promise--_ but he’d give himself away. So instead he squeezes Adam a little tighter and then, with a heavy exhale, he relaxes. And if his lips just so _happen_ to brush Adam’s shoulder, well, it’s not the most unbelievable thing one could do in their sleep, right?

Adam sniffs once more, rubs his eyes free of the remaining tears, and settles into Ronan’s arms.

He takes a few deep breaths. He tries to match Ronan’s breathing, like he always does when this happens. Because Ronan just so happens to breathe at just the right speed to calm him back down. A coincidence, of course.

It’s not long before Adam’s breath evens out. His shoulder relax and his fists uncurl; his brow smooths out and his jaw unclenches.

Adam’s almost there, tilting on the razor’s edge of asleep and awake.

“Thank you,” he sighs, and then falls asleep once more.  

Ronan smiles, and leaves a gentle kiss along the slope of his neck.

So _maybe_ Adam knows better than to believe in coincidences.

But Ronan’s good at keeping secrets.


End file.
